Oneirata 2021 - Hastings-on-Hudson School District
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Oneirata 2021
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Cover Art by Graham Routhier
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Oneirata
2021
The Literary Magazine of Hastings High School
Editor in Chief Caroline Anderson
Faculty Advisor Ms. Walters
Editor’s Note
The literary magazine was put together in a COVID-esque manner: an isolated
individual working from home in pajamas. Many pieces reflected the same themes of
loneliness, yet the literary magazine has never had such a unified collection of pieces. The
separation itself was unifying, since we all had the universal experience of having friendships
reduced to reaching out through screens and occasional walks and of having our schedules
thrown off balance. As destructive as the experience is, the magazine seems to have notes of
hope with the COVID-19 Epiphany Papers. Together they tell a story of strength, stronger
appreciation for other people and a stronger sense of self. Writing has been a way to get to
know myself, even when the subject has nothing to do with me. There’s always some
underlying reason why I choose to write what I do, and the mood of the piece gives insight
into how I feel at that moment. Each character carries a small reflection of me, maybe the
tone of their voice or an experience we share. It is a way to put myself out in the world
behind a mask, something we’re all very familiar with by now. But I think the best part of this
edition of the magazine is the irony that most of the pieces are those that show the person
behind the mask and take a moment of deep self-reflection, which made being the editor
incredibly gratifying. I hope you enjoy the finished product almost as much as I enjoyed
making it. ~ Caroline Anderson
A Note from Ms. Walters
As we enter summer, that traditional time-honored emblem of freedom, we enter it
differently than we did last summer. We appreciate a hot cafeteria, an uncomfortable desk, a
packed schedule, a noisy hallway as integral parts of what makes school fulfilling. After a
year of more enforced solitude and quiet than we’d ever imagined, we seem to know
ourselves and what we need a little more. The contributions in this year’s magazine show how
fear, weakness and worry aren’t eternal; in fact, they just might be the flipside to hard-won
fortitude. Some of these pieces come from English or Creative Writing class assignments;
others students crafted on their own. I’m so grateful to Caroline for the time she spent
thoughtfully pairing art submissions with the literary ones and for showing initiative, passion
and an overall sunny attitude while working on this magazine. Thank you Ms. Gilbert and Mr.
Merchant for the art contributions from your students and Nidia Ferrara for printing hard
copies of the magazine. I wish you all a wonderful summer.
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Table of Contents
Roots- JULIA GARDNER .................................................................................... 4
Phone Poem- AUSTIN BIRKEDAL ......................................................................... 5
I Was Ready to Bust Out of the Closet with Rainbows and Glitter- ERIN LOBOVSKY .......... 6
Phone Poem- STELLA STEPHENS ......................................................................... 8
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- ISABELLE FRIES ........................................................... 9
Nuisance’s Lament- SOFIA HAYES ..................................................................... 10
Heaven and Hell Paper- EZEKIEL MANLY ............................................................. 13
Phone Poem- BENJAMIN MCNULTY .................................................................... 14
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- OWEN TAYLOR .......................................................... 15
Phone Poem- JULIE ALEINER ............................................................................ 16
She Wore the Ocean- CAROLINE ANDERSON .......................................................... 17
Sleep- ANDRE ANUSZKIEWICZ ........................................................................... 18
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- IONE SHIH ................................................................ 20
Before the Sun Sets- HANNAH BEINSTEIN ............................................................ 22
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- SARAH KOROSI ........................................................... 24
Phone Poem- JOANNA ABIRIZK .......................................................................... 25
Heaven and Hell Paper- OWEN TAYLOR .............................................................. 26
Ode to a Skinned Knee- JULIA GARDNER ............................................................. 29
Phone Poem- CONNOR NOYES .......................................................................... 30
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- LIAM PAINTER ........................................................... 31
Phone Poem- CHRISTINE CIFELLI ....................................................................... 32
Childhood Memories- EMMA NATHENSON ............................................................. 33
No Back Door- SOFIA HAYES ............................................................................ 34
Candlelight- EMILIA ANDERSON ......................................................................... 36
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COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- EZEKIEL MANLY ......................................................... 37
Phone Poem- PATRICK WALSH .......................................................................... 38
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- PAIGE SANCHEZ ......................................................... 39
Phone Poem- JOAQUIN TEPER........................................................................... 40
Spotlight- CAROLINE ANDERSON ........................................................................ 41
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- ADIN DOWLING ........................................................... 42
Untitled- ELIANNA CARVALHO ........................................................................... 43
What Happened at Novacoast- ERIC LOUIS BAGTAS ................................................ 44
Phone Poem- LAUREN MARGALIT ...................................................................... 46
Longing- IONE SHIH ....................................................................................... 47
Backstory for “The Peace of the Wild Things”- ISABELLE FRIES ................................. 48
Phone Poem- FORD ZAMORE ............................................................................ 49
To The Sitcom Industry in Crisis- NOA HART ........................................................ 50
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- LOGAN RICHIEZ .......................................................... 52
The Job- HANNAH BEINSTEIN ............................................................................ 53
Heaven and Hell Paper- SARAH KOROSI .............................................................. 54
COVID-19 Epiphany Paper- ISABELLA SANTANA ..................................................... 56
Untitled- JULIA MOONEY ................................................................................ 58
Untitled- ANNA THOMAS ................................................................................. 60
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Roots
I don’t exactly know why
I turned down that promotion today.
Outside the window, the willow tree’s gnarled arm
reaches for the last dregs of light in a watery sky.
A petal of pale gray skin spans the pad of my index finger,
new and tentative where I nicked myself
cutting carrots for dinner last week.
Somewhere in my stomach, restlessness stirs.
I’ll let it brew.
I buy a new quilt every time I move cities
and there’s a hole in mine,
only the size of a dime, an oddly even tunnel
through sage green yarn.
I know I should be climbing up some ladder but it would kill me
to dig my roots down even further into this soil.
I don’t want to reach for anything, only
the consistency of my dinners for one,
that thin orange film of oil on top of the dishes soaking in the sink,
the shrill cry of the kettle in the afternoon and the same playlist
every night. Lemon peels and eggshells in the compost.
The coolness of a fresh silk pillowcase
each Thursday.
For now, I’ll let it brew;
a Saturday later, I go to Bed, Bath & Beyond and roam the aisles,
not to buy anything but to run my eyes over the possibilities;
paisley, navy blue, alabaster.
Sink into sleep at ten and dream of the crisp edges
of a letter of resignation, the familiar heft
of those cardboard boxes waiting tensely in the living room closet,
wake up with my twitching fingers tangled in yarn,
stretching the hole in the quilt.
Julia Gardner
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Phone Poem
My phone is like my airpods,
Connecting me to a new world while disconnecting me from an old one.
Our phones are like maps,
Guiding us if used correctly, but a couple wrong steps and we are more lost than before.
My phone is like food,
Providing a multitude of benefits only if used in moderation.
Our phones are like clothes,
Leaving the house without them would be a nightmare.
My phone is like a glass bottled soda,
Offering pleasure when opened, but closing it is a whole different challenge.
Our phones are like us,
Running out of battery at the end of the day.
Austin Birkedal
Roisin O’Flaherty- AP Art
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I Was Ready to Bust Out of the Closet with Rainbows and Glitter
Daniel walked into the living room with two steaming glasses of tea. He placed one on
the mid-century coffee table and sipped from the other one in his hand. He ran back to the
kitchen and grabbed the banana smoothie he made for Melissa, then he came back and sat
down next to his husband Owen and their daughter in their comfortable, small home.
“Here we go,” Daniel said with a cheerful hum underneath his breath. Daniel glanced
over at Owen, looked around their home and breathed in the warm, fresh air. He stood up for a
moment to go to the window. He opened the shades allowing the strong rays of light to seep
through. He stood there for a moment and absorbed the sunlight through their ceiling high
windows. He took a moment to appreciate his life; something he hadn't done in a long time. He
turned around and while walking back to the couch, he caught sight of a picture of Owen and
him while he was in the Marines. Now, he was so thankful to have that part of his life behind
him.
The night before Daniel was deployed to Iraq he visited his mother. Reentering his
childhood home at the age of twenty, he never believed he would visit for the reason he was
there that night. He walked up the thin staircase and into his mother's room. The aged, creaky
door squeaked as he stepped through the entry. His eyes were already watering and his nose
and cheeks were all rosy.
“Danny,” his mom said, in shock. “Come here, what’s wrong?” she asked, but he didn't
respond. He steadily walked towards her, trying his best to avoid eye contact. Then, he laid
down on the floral comforter, put his head in her lap and cried. The tears fell down his cheeks
like a waterfall, pouring down strong and fast. Daniel's heart continued to break because he
wasn’t prepared to tell his mother why he was crying. He couldn’t tell her that he was in love.
Back in their suburban house, Owen headed up the stairs to their bedroom to grab three
blankets before they started watching their usual Sunday morning television program.
“Daniel, where are the blankets?” he yelled down the hall.
“They should be in the bottom drawer of my dresser.”
Owen opened the drawer and yelled back, “Got it.” As he lifted the blankets out of their
neat fold at the bottom of the dresser, he noticed at least ten pieces of paper hidden below. He
got on his knees, pulled them out and began to unfold them. Owen began skimming through a
few of the letters, and as he made his way to the bottom he saw the signature - from Lisa.
When Daniel was deployed for the first time, Owen decided to write him letters once a
week and sign them as Lisa; in case they were ever found. This was the only way they could
keep their relationship a secret. Owen would find a piece of paper and pencil, sit in his office
chair at his desk and write. He would share about what he was doing back home and ask about
how Daniel was, too. Then moving from his desk to lying in his cold bed alone, Owen would wait
for days, and sometimes months, to find a letter in his mailbox. What he preferred even more
than a letter, was a phone call. The landline just sat there, lonely, miserable waiting for
someone to call. But, Daniel was only able to call him once in a blue moon, so he never got his
hopes up. Owen would often think about how Daniel could be severely hurt or falling out of love
with him as he was writing the letters week after week. It felt so unsettling. He wondered why
they were waiting so long to come out and tell their friends and family how they truly felt about
one another.
“Just two imperfect people refusing to give up on each other,” Daniel said as he peered
over Owen’s shoulder at the letter in his hand. Owen spun around, taken off guard, but then
exhaled and smiled.
“You saved these?” Owen asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Daniel responded without any hesitation.
“I just thought-” Owen started, but was then suddenly interrupted.
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“These were the reasons our relationship lasted while I was away,” Daniel sat on the
floor next to Owen and looked straight into his wide, hazel eyes. “You never gave up,” he said.
“We never gave up.”
Owen smiled and Daniel continued, “Like I always say, by the time I left the Marines I
was ready to bust out of the closet with rainbows and glitter.”
“You and I both,” Owen said as he carefully folded the letter back into a little rectangle
and laid them into the drawer. Daniel stood up and helped Owen gather the blankets.
Then a little head with shimmering, long brown hair peeked into the room, “Are you guys
coming?” A sweet high-pitched voice asked from the doorway.
“We’re coming, Melissa,” Daniel responded as he walked to the hallway and picked her
up. The three of them walked back downstairs and got cozy on the couch. They both held one
of Melissa’s hands as she struggled to get her body up on the sofa. Once up, she carefully
situated herself between her dads and laid the blanket over her lap. As the program started, the
two looked at each other and grinned.
“I love you,” Owen mouthed to Daniel.
“I love you, too,” he responded.
Erin Lobovsky (inspired by a Storycorps piece on NPR)
Marin Diz- AP Photo
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Phone Poem
Our phone is like an appendage,
Attached to our bodies at all times, never leaving without it
Our phone is like a mailman,
Delivering messages and connecting us to the world
Our phone is like a screw,
Holding us together and helping us function
Our phone is like oxygen,
Something we consider a necessity for survival, unable to go minutes without it
Our phone is like a casino,
Trapped in it for long periods of time, wasting our day away
Stella Stephens
Jasper Lincoln- AP Art
8COVID-19 Epiphany Paper
The COVID-19 pandemic was life-changing for almost everyone across the world in
2020. No one knew how to deal with their feelings and emotions about the new regulations for
keeping everyone safe. In the beginning, I remember everyone, including myself, thinking this
was just going to be just 2 weeks off from school/work. Naturally, everyone was psyched for a
break. However, as the weeks went on and we still weren’t going back to school, people started
to get increasingly nervous. I remember being uncertain about what was going to happen.
Would summer be normal? Would we go back to school before my freshman year of high
school ended? Everything was up in the air. I think the scariest part of it all for me at the
beginning was how my parents, the people in my life who are always calm and know that things
are going to turn out ok, didn’t know what was happening or what was going to happen. This
made me feel like the base in my life wasn’t steady and that was really scary. Another thing that
was really different was that for the longest time, I didn’t know how to feel. Was I supposed to
be scared? Sad? Happy for a break from school? It was really confusing for me to try and figure
out what I felt like inside about this huge situation.
On a more positive note, this COVID-19 pandemic really allowed me to appreciate the
things I once took for granted and now can’t have. “Too often we don’t realize what we have
until it’s gone.” One thing I greatly took advantage of before the pandemic was being able to
hang out with large groups of friends in their homes. I found myself missing seeing my friend’s
houses and families which I never once crossed my mind before quarantine. I also realized how
powerful hugs are. When I would go and see my friends safely with masks on, my first instinct
was to go hug them like usual, but of course, I had to stop myself and that was really upsetting.
However, it allowed me to cherish physical contact and look forward to a time when that’s safe.
Another major thing that allowed me to really appreciate life was in the very beginning, it wasn’t
safe to go out of state at all. All my mother’s family lives in Massachusetts and at least once
every summer, my family will make the drive up to Cape Cod to visit them. So up until almost
July, my family wasn’t sure when the next time we would see our relatives was going to be.
Even worse, my dad’s entire family lives in Germany and we had a trip booked in April to go visit
them, but of course that was canceled. We still haven’t seen them in more than a year, which
really makes me want to fully appreciate every second I get with my extended family. If it
weren’t for the Coronavirus pandemic of 2020, I probably wouldn’t have realized how much I
really love and cherish seeing and hugging my friends and family.
Isabelle Fries
9Nuisance’s Lament
I hate when the telephone in my dorm rings. The sound reminds me of my aunt’s
summer cottage off the coast of Virginia. My mother never wanted to send me to camp, too
many grass stains and socialization with other frivolous children, she would say. My mother and
father already thought I was too imaginative so my aunt’s limitless abyss she called a summer
home was a perfect spot to settle my unruly mind.
My aunt has always been a little scared of my mother. My aunt used to tell me that she
was always embittered, even in the perfect point of adolescence where everything feels warm
and bullish. When I was seven years old, my mother decided I was a nuisance. You would think
most seven year olds would be some sort of a nuisance but my mother didn’t think that way.
Right before our holiday break my mother had received a letter from my teacher, Ms. Winnie. In
the letter she explained that I was a great student with a wide imagination but I couldn’t focus
well during reading. She explained that I would take out the crayons my father had bought me
for my sixth birthday and draw out the stories she would tell. Though Ms. Winnie praised me for
my creativity, all my mother saw was a whirlpool of distraction administered by a senseless
daydreamer. She always feared I would become a Walter Mitty in a sea full of diplomats and
professors that had always surrounded me; and of course that wasn’t acceptable. Nevermind,
some parents could only wish their child had a mind that went beyond time tables and line
leaders. But, I was taken out of that school and put into a private school on the border between
Connecticut and Rhode Island. I was devastated because I loved Ms. Winnie more than I had
any other woman, and I think my mother knew that.
That summer I was sent down on a train to the place in Virginia where no one
intentionally goes; the last stop. But once I arrived I saw a quiet beach-side house with
casement windows and a mansard roof. Its shingles were rusted and full of grime but the house
stood enduring the mighty winds and waves every summer. Her house was only steps from the
beach but the water was too cold for anyone to enjoy. I would simply watch my aunt from the
small, screened window of my bedroom as she waded in the foamed navy water, not scared of
the cold or the crabs by her feet. It was me and only me watching her blush bathing suit bob up
and down during low tide.
My aunt was a particular lady who didn’t like many things. She hated crosswords at the
end of gossip magazines and mechanical pencils that broke too easily. She only truly loved her
set of Princess Diana plates and Waterford wine glasses that sat on her mantlepiece. That was
all she needed, everything else was left to be buried under the dust and sand from the windows
she kept open year-round. She also wasn’t very keen on people. She didn’t like guests at her
house and only tolerated me at my mother’s request. When she did have someone over, usually
the local reverend or a bridge friend, she asked them not to bring gifts. Without hesitation, for
the few who didn’t listen, she threw them away. She saw the act of eternal pity through a measly
box of chocolates or a serving tray. She believed that everyone thought she was lonely. They
weren’t wrong. She must have had a reason to let me stay summers if she wasn’t extremely
lonely; I wasn’t very good company.
I only saw her keep one gift during the summer before I turned fifteen. A woman named
Catherine bought her an antique landline from a small boutique up in New Hampshire.
Catherine claimed it sounded like the morning doves that nested outside of her parent’s home,
but I thought it was closer to an elderly owl; it croaked like a poor bird waiting for death on its
maple perch. Now, I didn’t know Catherine, only that she had known my mother and aunt as a
child; something about their father’s working together in a printing shop. She seemed quiet and
reserved when I first met her. She would twirl the ends of her tasseled cardigan while my aunt
talked about the latest recipes she’d seen in Good Housekeeping. I didn’t talk to her much but I
knew my aunt adored her, more than any other guest I’d met. And my aunt loved the umber-
10colored phone more than she had loved anything I’d seen and placed it next to her favorite
loveseat. A cherry-colored chair nobody sat on right outside her guest room, my bedroom.
The ringing never seemed to stop. My aunt received more calls than an older woman
should. The phone would go off every morning at eight o’clock from her ex-husband Harold
arranging their use of their apartment in Gloucester. They had no children but their seaside two-
bedroom caused more quarrel than any sane child could handle. Later, at four on the dot, my
mother would call to check up on me. She didn’t ask much; was I walking once a day, did I finish
my summer work? To both of those I replied yes, the answer she wanted to hear, and we
wouldn’t talk about it anymore after that. It was a response that gave my mother her weekly
sense of relief. My mother continued with the riveting discussion of my father’s new office
overlooking the Williamsburg Bridge. It had floor to ceiling windows and a secretary who wasn’t
as pretty as at his last office, to my mother’s pleasure. The conversation lasted ten minutes,
maybe fifteen, until she made up some excuse about her tea kettle whistling or having to shoo
away an Evangelical at the door. We didn’t have much to say to each other so I didn’t mind her
sorry excuse for a goodbye.
****
I wished my aunt asked Catherine to stay that night. I had to set up the phone that day,
to my aunt’s request, which lasted until the later hours of the night. Though I didn’t mind staying
past midnight, I did most nights anyways, I wished my aunt could have been interested in
anything else besides yelling at me about scuffing her walls. Her voice was always scratchy at
night like a broken Bob Dylan record. It started soft in the morning while she drank her earl grey
and read the style section but as the day went on, and the phone kept ringing, her voice turned
ashen, like the tea leaves sitting at the bottom of her cup.
I only had to bear the ringing and the yelling for another week and half. My new
formidable private school started earlier than my classes with Miss Winnie had. Back in her
classroom she would spend the first few minutes greeting and stirring honey into her tea. She
managed to wake up all the tired eyes that lingered after Labor Day. I’m sure at this school
there are no striped cardigans and morning hymns. But I didn’t mind leaving most of August
behind if it meant I could get away from the ringing and the reverends at dinner. I liked to think
my aunt didn’t mind either that she was happy to send me back in one piece, but my mother
used to tell me it tore her apart. I didn’t like thinking of her that way. She was supposed to be
like a lioness statue standing still at the front of her porch. She was supposed to be strong and
frigid with the surveillance I never got from my mother, who could care less about what secrets
and promises I trusted her with.
I hugged my aunt for the first time that summer. I told her I would call her at my new
school and I intended to. I actually called her three times that next week. We didn’t say much to
each other, but I wanted to hear her raspy voice and the crashing waves in the background.
She’s still withering away in that loveseat of hers, my mother says. I don’t think she is. If
anything, I’m the one fading in this dorm.
My aunt was never a very passionate person, at least I could only assume she wasn’t.
She studied classics in school but couldn’t remember a word of Latin and had a vocabulary
equivalent to an old sailor. Although she didn’t seem to love anything for more than a few
weeks, she was content. Yes, she would yell and was bitter more days than none but she was
never truly unhappy, unlike me. Unlike my mother who most definitely regrets that her son loved
his school teacher more than her. And that I’m sitting in a dorm at a school she sent me to. That
I’m listening to my landline ring and thinking about my aunt’s old, irritating phone instead of
wondering if it’s my mother calling to check up on me. And I will always hate the sound of my
phone but not because it reminds me of my aunt and her biting voice, but because it reminds of
that June day when my mother dropped me off and left without a shadow. My aunt was more
11willing to love me, tolerate me, than she had ever tried. A woman named Catherine who I never
really knew tried to know me. She didn’t. And now I’m sitting in this school for washed up,
uninspired children, with the hopes that maybe I’ll come out a lawyer. That maybe I can wash
away this repeated owl-ringing in my ear and all the waves crashing onto pebbles. I have to
pretend I forget it all or else she’ll never let me return to that seaside house in the middle of
nowhere.
Sofia Hayes
Kim Rosner- AP Art
12Hell Essay
I wake up to my alarm clock playing the intro to my favorite song “Martin & Gina” by Polo
G. But after I begin to get the vibe to the song it changes to the chorus of one of my mom’s
favorite songs, “Gaslighter” which makes my ears cringe listening to the repetitive “Gaslighter
denier doing anything to get your ass farther”. The squeaky, repetitive song haunts me all day,
making me remember the times when my mom would come in and blast that song when I had to
wake up and get ready for school. Then I look out the window to a gorgeous sunny 60-degree
day with the hopes of getting outside and playing soccer with my friends. When, in reality, in
about ten minutes it will thunderstorm destroying any ambitions I had to go outside and play. On
the other hand, my lock screen on my phone says today is Sunday, December 25th. So I rush
downstairs to eat breakfast, which is my favorite meal of the day, to have avocado toast on
crunchy bread with a seasoned egg to the perfect amount of saltiness. But as soon as I am
about to take a colossal bite out of my toast my dog starts howling at the people walking by
while knocking my plate shattering right out of my hands, and then devouring the food that fell
on the floor. Bet this couldn’t get any worse, right? Well turns out the kids who were walking
down the street, are actually walking to school. So, I have to throw on a pair of baggy
sweatpants and a sweatshirt and rush out the door on a Monday morning with an empty
stomach and my mom screaming at me not to forget my soccer stuff, which, of course, I forget.
As soon as I walk into school, there’s a huge banner at the top of the entrance that says
Hastings High School Olympics - my favorite school day of the year. So I rush down to the gym
to find my friends, only to find all the tables and chairs set up instead for testing because of
course, it is midterms week. Instead of playing games with my friends and having a great time I
am sitting in an uncomfortably hot gymnasium taking midterms that I probably could have taken
blindfolded and got a better score. After completely flunking all of the midterms, my friends
come up to me and start hazing me about our playoff soccer game against Dobbs.
The only relief from a miserable day of school is that I know today is a huge playoff
soccer game against our arch-rival, Dobbs Ferry. Before warming up my heart drops because I
realize I forgot my cleats. With regret tormenting me, I remember my mom yelling at me not to
forget my stuff, and how disappointed she will be when she finds out. I am suddenly
overwhelmed with the knowledge that I will be watching the game from the sidelines, knowing it
is completely my fault that I’m not playing. This is quite possibly the worst feeling in the world.
From the bench, watching my team lose on a last-second goal, fills my body with despair. The
song Gaslighter comes back in my head as I start thinking about how I could have stopped this
all from happening and not let down the people I love around me if only I had listened to my
mom’s annoying reminder.
Hell for me is not just torture and my imagination of things that annoy me, it’s the taste of
joy immediately snatched away to be replaced with misery and agony. Much like Sisyphus
pushing his boulder up the hill, my version of hell is pushing my rock closer and closer to the top
but never getting there. In some ways, it’s harder to face that there is a better world out there
that is just beyond our reach than it is to be oblivious to the sweet side of life. My hell isn't just a
series of misadventures and screw-ups, it is the pain of living with what-ifs and almosts that
haunt me as much as that stupid song. Gaslighter for real.
Ezekiel Manly
13My Phone
My phone is like candy,
Fun and tasty, but never good for you if you have too much.
My phone is like my grandparents,
Telling endless stories and seemingly all-knowing.
My phone is like an action movie,
Exciting, ridiculous, and with some CGI as well.
My phone is like a lantern,
Helpful and necessary, but attracting pests that make it more of a distraction.
My phone is like a tennis match,
Entertaining to watch and full of surprises and disappointments, victories and losses.
What is your phone like?
Benjamin McNulty
Miles Hamburger- AP Art
14COVID-19 Epiphany Paper
Since the United States has become the epicenter of the devastating coronavirus
pandemic, citizens' lifestyles around the nation have been altered more than they could have
ever imagined. Millions cannot support their families, and hundreds of thousands have lost
loved ones to the mysterious disease. Citizens have been forced to develop new routines for
themselves during this unusual period. Several have had epiphanies that have drastically
changed their outlooks on both life and the pandemic. I have developed an appreciation for the
world's natural beauties and have realized just how beautiful nature is.
Following the isolation period's official announcement, I struggled to discover new
hobbies that I would enjoy doing for the next few months. I attempted to learn an instrument,
cook delectable meals, and play soccer by myself at the Burke Estate. After weeks of pursuing
new hobbies, I observed a significant decrease in my motivation and cognizance. I lacked the
ambition to try new activities and decided to go on a walk to clear my mind. As I wandered
through the Hastings Woods, I was overwhelmed by a feeling buried in my mind for months:
freedom. As I continued to walk, I glanced at the trees that towered over me and listened to the
birds singing their captivating anthems. I had finally discovered my "paradise."
Taking scenic walks had become one of my few daily activities, and it never seemed to
bore me. Accompanied solely by my camera, I would take walks for hours on end, searching for
new routes and areas to relax. I strived to capture photos of exotic animals and breathtaking
scenes created by the strength of nature itself. These walks had become a form of liberation for
my body, giving my thoughts the ability to wander in whatever direction they desired. I observed
a significant improvement in my cardiovascular health and a newfound passion for preserving
the various organisms surrounding me. Walking helped me remain both physically and mentally
active during the early months of isolation.
My love for all aspects of nature had opened up a section of the world that I had always
seemed to overlook: color. The vibrant shades of green, orange, and yellow were splattered
across the woods like an abstract piece of art; It was truly a hidden masterpiece. I would find
myself gazing at the trees that towered over me for long periods, admiring the thousands of
colors that it was composed of. My passion for photography, combined with my love for colors,
had ultimately resulted in an empty wallet and an SD card filled to the brim.
Although my love for nature had begun during the early months of isolation, I plan on
continuing to pursue it throughout the school year. John Muir, a Scottish-American mountaineer,
once said, "In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." This statement
directly correlates to my first memorable encounter with nature, as it left me feeling cleansed
and "reborn." Nature was my escape from the harsh reality that we were living in.
Owen Taylor
15Phone Poem
Our phones are like masks,
Covering up our true emotions beneath a screen of unreal.
Our phones are like high school students,
Shutting down when they work for too long.
Our phones are like corn mazes,
Trapping us in interest, fun, confusion.
Our phones are like birds,
Seeing more than we see, knowing more than we do.
Our phones are like our hometowns,
Where we wander past familiar spots for hours.
Julie Aleiner
Caroline Rosner- AP Art
16She Wore the Ocean
She wore the ocean as a dress
The froth formed the frills
as the waves unfurled themselves upon her shoulders
A seaweed belt and sandy shoes.
She was covered
tripping over the billowing layers of fabric until they swallowed her
in teeth of salt
between shapeshifting blue lips
The body washed up in a coat of sand and
eyes little melted disco balls
Her veins traveled like coral on the coast of her arms
Leftover from her deep sea massage, a tentacle formed a collar
Tagging her for return.
Her lips pried open like a clam for the chance of a pearl
Shriveled as dried fruits on countertops
They could not identify the bloated skin dressed in foam
And jellyfish sting polka dots
His bride had vanished in the night
Taken a path through the Milky Way
Homesick for the sun and her slow honey coughs
Syrupy with bits of stars flying out of her lips
Frail in her rocking chair
He remembered all the times he said he loved her and everything about her
“Even the blue things? The sad things?”
Her Chapstick brand in the blue packaging
Only using blue highlighters because yellow seemed to scream
“Spotlight this” and all of the text was important to her
Her eyes the dusty remains of graphite
sapped of the blue of her childhood
It was all blue
The walls, the bed, the view from the window
Her favorite bowl, her school colors
Her earrings, shoes and jacket
The texture of her skin and
rhythm of her voice
Even when she was screaming or singing off tune
Smell of her body wash was blue too and
Taste of her salty cheeks after crying when he would kiss the remnants of tears,
the little puddles in the craters of her face,
Away
So they could not escape into oceans
Caroline Anderson
17SLEEP
Geryon was now only physically alone.
----------------------------
His eyes were itching through his cornea like a hot home of ants. Thinking of the time
She had taken him to the orchard
crisp on his mind.
He cried bright tears out of these same human eyes.
He was younger then, but recognized bright red apples
for fractions of his whole.
Geryon was able to count crate full of glistening seeds.
He kept climbing, his mind was empty like a sky with no stars or
a picture with color.
The water drowned his hearing now as he crawled into bed. He was tired
of people, agony kept him awake but he was no longer thinking.
He had made up his mind.
His dreams were concave, the central meaning of which
had been diluted like store bought apple juice, he dreamt, too much water
And not enough apple.
Seeking to fill what Geryon so desperately desired, his eyes moved rapidly under his eyelids for
minutes but what felt like a lifetime with an electrolarynx.
He was coughing, his lungs butted black by trays full of ash.
They felt as if they could erupt in blood and soot.
He could not stop, his vision was lackluster and his heart ablaze.
Now not only was it broken but smoking like car twisted with glass.
He awoke, the only thing burnt was the mirror.
The feet of a monster are too big for a boy’s bed
and his were cold. Geryon laid with his eyes now relieved,
the only part that ached was everything else, core through skin.
Beneath the windows Geryon still heard black clouds scribbling hard
on the white concrete street, marking every inch.
The caress of water on cinder made him feel even more alone.
Memories of sunshine now long gone hidden like the underside
of rotting lily pads.
Geryon thought the horizon always had something to look forward to,
another day in the broken pattern of mindless weather.
It did not.
Separation proved to be the limit to his theory.
Shrieks from the millions of hydrated non-humans as they came
exploding when they walked from heaven to death filled only two ears
on all of earth.
His eyelids were sore like sunburn from water
that put a target on the dumb, red boy’s back.
He flipped his pillow to the cool side.
It didn’t help.
At the very end of Geryon’s street breathes a streetlamp whose sole purpose
is for attention. It bleeds past Geryon’s eyelashes and maneuvers
every which way ensuring Geryon gets the least amount of sleep possible
this particular night.
Instead of putting up curtains Geryon chooses to fight this battle for attention and
18he finds himself losing.
Andre Anuszkiewicz
Caleb Painter- AP Art
19COVID-19 Epiphany Paper
As our seemingly brief two week “coronacation” slowly has turned into six months and
counting, myself and the people I keep close to my heart have had plenty of time to reflect and
evolve both individually and as a community. My friends and I tracked the timeline by means of
significant milestones: my total loss of all eyebrow hair, the beginning of the newest wave of
Black Lives Matter protests, and most recently, the passing of our beloved RBG. Somewhere
along the way, my mental health plummeted into a seemingly endless abyss. Deep in a covid
induced depression coma, throughout many therapy sessions, I had a realization that
completely polarized my initial perception of how I’ve been living my life.
Until sometime in mid-May, I suppose I was what most would call a solipsist, someone
who lives along the lines of a philosophy in which oneself is the only “real” person. It troubles
me to put a label on my beliefs like that, but for the sake of the argument I was definitely a
solipsist. My realization, though, was that regardless of my indulgence in solopcism, I needed to
make the most out of this life. This was not a concept that was easy to grasp, nor did it provide
me with an immediate change in my physical life. I had this knowledge long before I let myself
be affected by it. How I obtained the knowledge in the first place is a mystery. Why it chose to
hit me like a truck is another. All I know is that one night, I was taking a shower at around
midnight, as I always do before going to sleep. I closed my eyes and let myself be encased by
the hot water. The warmth that had always soothed me would once again quiet my mind and let
me think clearly. With a calm headspace for the first time in months, I decided I would infuse
myself with life and truly live it, regardless of whether it meant anything in the long run or the
afterlife or whatever. The next morning, I woke up, cleaned my room, and was possibly the most
productive I’ve ever been in my life.
This was clearly a personal victory. As much as I would have liked to make an earth-
shattering discovery that would forever change humankind, this was the product of too much
time in quarantine. Looking back on the events of my discovery now, and especially organizing
20it in writing, I would say it was an experience that taught me a lot. Not about just myself, but
about mental health in general. First, it taught me that nobody’s mental health progress is linear.
If I graphed it, it would be all over the place. Second, I learned to ride the wave. As long as I can
lean on my resources throughout the not-so-linear mental health path, I will always be able to
make it through. Word. On momma.
Ione Shih
Kate Jones- AP Art
21Before the Sun Sets
The sadness sat deep in the pit of my stomach and never went away. It didn’t burn like a
fire, but it was always there, weighing me down, covering my thoughts in a gray cloud. Standing
right in front of my sister in the place we had lived together for forever, I noticed she didn’t look
the same. Mia’s hair had reached her elbows and her once innocent eyes were traced in black
eyeliner. She didn’t smile in that way she used to where she placed her top teeth directly over
her bottom ones. She no longer flinched her shoulders whenever someone said her name.
I wished I could go back to ten years ago when Mia smiled in that awkward way, when
my mind was clear and my eyes glimmered at the thought of playing sock puppets with her.
Even though she had changed, I hadn’t. I still preferred reading graphic novels to going to
parties. She had lived a new life, and I didn’t even recognize her anymore. So much had come
between us. I grew envious of the elegant way she walked, and the way she could make an
entire room of people turn toward her while I hid in the corner. But tonight was the last night
before she left for college.
I rarely spoke to her these days, before I knew it, the words escaped my mouth.
“Do you want to watch the sunset?” I asked, “It’s our last one together for a while.”
She stared at me and shrugged, “sure . . . but it’s almost over.”
“No, it’s not dark yet,” I responded, trying to match the look in her eyes.
She sighed, “okay.”
Together we walked out the sliding glass door and onto the grass. We passed the
wooden table where we’d eaten dinner a thousand times and climbed up onto the big rocks we
weren’t allowed to climb on years ago. The air smelled like peaches and sunscreen. I moved my
fingers against the rock and felt little pieces of it crumble onto my palms. In front of us, the
golden sun melted on the trees and turned the purple-blue sky to a warm pink. The color of a
heart. The heart I knew she had deep inside her soul.
22When the sun went all the way down, and the sky became a dark curtain, it felt like time
stopped. She rested her head on my shoulder and we sat, eyes still open, listening to the
crickets chirp, and breathing in the sweet summery air.
Hannah Beinstein
Graham Routhier- AP Art
23COVID-19 Epiphany Paper
Eꞏpiphꞏaꞏny (noun) - an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure. Moments like
these don’t happen very often. But when they do, they can turn your life around; making you feel
like a brand new you. Epiphanies can make you view everything from a totally different
perspective than before. During the past months of this pandemic, I’ve happened to come
across an epiphany; one that completely changed my mindset forever. It was that you shouldn’t
live in the past, shouldn’t think about the future, but you should live right here, right now, in the
present.
When first going into quarantine, I was in total shock that I would no longer be allowed to
live my life normally. Staying inside my house with nothing to do really got to me; and let me tell
you those first few months of shelter in place were horrifying. My father was coming home
crying every day because of patients dying one after another, my motivation to do well in school
went totally missing, and my mental health was for sure not at its best. But one day after those
few hard months, one very random day it just hit me. You have to make the most of what you’ve
got right now, in the present. The past definitely does not define you, so why continue to live in
it? Why make yourself so anxious thinking about the future when you haven’t yet come to the
realization that you have control of the present? A very famous saint, Mother Teresa once said,
“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin”. The
present is very important and you should never take it for granted.
As I finally realized that I should no longer be living in the past, I completely changed
overall as a person. To be honest, before quarantine, I was a complete mess. I often pushed
everything to the last minute, I was barely active and really didn’t do much to benefit myself.
When COVID came into the picture, it only made things worse. I could hardly concentrate and
get my schoolwork done since I had so many things on my mind all at once. I was overthinking
everything, especially my past. After I randomly came across my big realization, I decided to
take this time and use it in a more useful way. I started to become more active, exercising every
day, and started preparing and enjoying healthy meals-even creating some fun recipes along
the way. I tried to improve my mindset, worked on my physical and mental health, and overall
began to look at the world in a more optimistic way. I definitely started to see a change in myself
when I worked on these things, and others saw a change in me as well. I believe that this
pandemic overall has taught me a lot; to be more appreciative, to try and make time as useful
as possible, but mostly, to live in the present and not worry about anything else at the moment.
Sarah Korosi
24Phone Poem
Our phones are like our friends,
Always there for us when we need them.
Our phones are like a knowledgeable person,
Knowing all the facts and applying them.
Our phones are like our minds,
Full of thoughts and opinions, shared.
Our phones are like our voices,
Spreading information and being an outlet for the freedom of speech.
Our phones are like our world,
Providing the platform to spread cultures and beliefs worldwide.
Joanna Abirizk
Emma Rabinowitz- AP Art
25This Could Be Heaven or This Could Be Hell
As I reclined in my disheveled hospital bed, I began to reminisce about the preceding
years of my life, aspiring to receive an opportunity to relive those memories. My recollection of
the past had gradually faded throughout my life; however, I managed to recover details that
ultimately altered my outlook on death itself. Surrounded by my closest friends and family, I
realized that they, too, will venture to the afterlife, and I will be awaiting their arrival. As I
prepared to take my final breaths, I gazed out the fractured hospital window and admired this
extraordinary planet for one last time.
Upon my awakening, I was greeted by the unmistakable sensation of a Labrador
Retriever avidly licking my sunburnt face. It soon became evident that I was lying in the center
of a mesmerizing piece of farmland, surrounded by Braunvieh cattle and Einsiedler horses.
Astonished by the intricacies of this small piece of land, I had decided to continue my
exploration of this uncharted location. As I approached the field's border, I managed to
distinguish a fascinating lodge constructed with vibrant shades of cedarwood. With an outdoor
hot-tub and a handcrafted sauna, the chalet's amenities provided me with an opportunity to
enter a state of unadulterated relaxation. However, the enthralling view from the peak of the
Grand Teton Mountains was what had truly struck my attention. I arrived at the mountain's
summit shortly before sunset in an attempt to observe nightfall with my canine companion. As I
gazed at the vivid twilight, I ultimately came to a realization: this is the afterlife.
As I returned from my brief expedition, I inhaled the brisk Jackson Hole air, an action
that has consistently left my mind, body, and soul feeling rejuvenated. The breeze emitted an
aroma of freshly baked Toll House cookies, a distinctive scent that I had frequently anticipated
when traveling to my grandma's house in Long Island. Upon returning to the lodge, I realized
that the confections had been prepared in a Míele toaster oven at 350 Fahrenheit, my
grandmother's preferred machinery and temperature. After consuming an obscure amount of
chocolate chip cookies, I decided to explore my remarkable home further. As I ventured into the
26basement, I managed to distinguish the faint echo of "Brain Damage" by Pink Floyd being
performed below me. I was quite apprehensive when approaching this mysterious room's
entrance; however, without hesitation, I entered. In this darkened room, I was surrounded by
immersive speakers playing "The Dark Side of the Moon," while a 75-inch Samsung television
emerged from the wall before my eyes. I reclined onto a relaxing bean bag that conformed to
the shape of my body and retired to my bedroom after watching my favorite movie,
Stepbrothers.
I was awakened by the distinct sound of the North Pacific Ocean's cascading waters
advancing and retreating from the arenaceous surface. After thoroughly sterilizing my bedroom
in an attempt to satisfy my germophobic tendencies, I strolled downstairs and switched my
television on. While consuming my yogurt parfait with an excessive amount of drizzled honey, I
browsed through the station's directory. I was ecstatic when I observed the absence of news
channels and political programs. After digesting my primary meal of the day, I traveled to the
coast with my canine and allowed him to submerge himself in the frigid, translucent waters. I
craved an experience that provided me with an intense adrenaline rush, so I decided to venture
to my hangar and fly the Cessna 172 Skyhawk. While soaring through the air, I experienced the
immense pressure of the gravitational force, recognizing a sense of freedom that I seemed to
have forgotten. For the first time in my life, there was an absence of evil.
I was unexpectedly jolted awake by the distinct sound of my mother's attempt at
summoning me into the kitchen. Breakfast had been prepared, she hollered, and the entire
family was anxiously awaiting my arrival. As I settled into my revolving stool, I entered a state of
utter confusion when observing my surroundings. Yesterday, I was trekking through a mountain
with Pink Floyd performing in the background. Today, it seemed that I had returned to reality.
27I soon realized that my journey through nirvana was a captivating illusion, a figment of my
imagination.
Owen Taylor
Kim Rosner- AP Art
28Ode to a Skinned Knee
Smooth, soft plain
swallowed abruptly at a ragged, rippling edge:
a crater, sizzling and overflowing,
its rises and dips a glistening pink.
A velvety red rivulet blossoms from the molten center,
meandering through shimmering nooks and crannies, dripping down and away
through peach fuzz, the light blonde strands translucent, barely visible
against dirt-smeared skin.
Meadows of gleaming rose intercut
with highways paved in a light yellow ooze:
a sunset palette of watercolors bubbling up
from their torn and textured canvas.
The site of impact hums with the warmth
of the asphalt’s slick oil, that hot grime,
the summer’s rage awakening from its feverish slumber within the concrete
and unhinging its jaws to take a bite,
the delicate skin of the knee rupturing like a plum under its canines;
tender flesh, vulnerable, malleable
to the road’s abrasive scrape.
Julia Gardner
Roisin O’Flaherty
29Phone Poem
My phone is like a drug,
Addicting and always wanting to use
My phone is like an entertainment system
Allowing me to watch and play anything I want
My phone is like a person
Connecting me to new people or friends who live far away
My phone is like a plane
Transporting me to new places all over the world
My phone is like an engine
Keeping me going throughout the day
Connor Noyes
Kate Jones- AP Art
30COVID-19 Epiphany Paper
If we’re being honest, I didn’t start writing this paper until two days ago. I was having
trouble thinking of any type of “epiphany” I had had during the pandemic. I spent all last week
wracking my brain, trying to come up with something. I had few ideas and those I did have were
useless. But then it hit me (an epiphany if you will), that this realization could be something I had
never considered, but that had transformed my life nonetheless.
You probably don’t know this, but I’m a person who works well on a schedule, a person
who tends to fall apart without one. Over the course of my life, school was my routine. I would
wake up, go to school, come home, do work, maybe spend time with friends, and then go to
bed. It was organized and helped to keep me on task and productive. Each summer, I would
regress and become more lazy and less social. No work would get done. I had no need to do
anything, and no pressure was there to push me. You see, there was this idea ingrained in my
head. I was someone who needed to have a busy life, to have every minute packed to the brim,
because otherwise I would lose track of what was important.
But this spring, the whole concept of my life came crashing down. I still had schoolwork,
but the structure was gone. The pressure was there, but nothing came even close to
organization. I won’t even try to deny it; I was completely lost at first. Assignment after
assignment went missing as I forgot to hand them in. If you had bet me a hundred dollars on
what day of the week it was, I would have been a hundred dollars poorer. Days drifted in a haze
and I floated through them meaninglessly.
Finally, I awoke one day and decided I was tired of living that way. I could no longer
pretend it was summer and ignore the majority of my work. So I went back to what always
worked for me: a schedule. The only exception was that this time, the schedule was my own. I
told myself what times were work hours and which hours were free time. I told myself when to
wake up, when to eat, and when to sleep. But most importantly, I told myself that this schedule
was set in stone, unmovable. I could not afford to procrastinate; I had to stick to my schedule
because who knows what would happen if I didn’t. Somehow I managed to keep this energy
throughout school and even into the summer. My dedication may have wavered, but it never
broke.
So there it is, my epiphany. It turns out that it never had to do with the outside world, but
rather what was inside me. I had found something inside me that I never knew was there. I had
an ability to do things without external pressure. I had discovered a way to create an internal
driving force to make me get things done.
Liam Painter
31Phone Poem
Our phones are like our food,
Fueling our bodies, without it we wouldn’t survive.
Our phones are like pets,
Attracting our immediate attention, it’s so hard to look away!
Our phones are like chatty gossip,
Distracting us endlessly while hours pass by.
Our phones are like our closets,
Specifically organized to our own liking.
Our phones are like our minds,
Storing our lives and memories and giving us access to them whenever we please.
Christine Cifelli
Emma Rabinowitz- AP Art
32Childhood Memories
Inspired by Mr. Blum’s jokes
Riley: (strides on stage)
April: So
Riley: So?
April: You slept with her again?
Riley: I can't stop.
April: But she's ugly, raggedy and old.
Riley: I think she's beautiful! She’s soft, non-judgmental and always there for me unlike you.
April: I LOVE you and, and you love her… Pack your bags.
Riley: WHAT?
April: PACK THEM.
Riley: Listen, you know I love her, but I can love both of you. She's been with me ever since I
was a baby. I know she's just a little old rag, but she means so much to me. I can't sleep without
her.
April: Honey I understand I'm just worried about you. You’re a grown man. You know I would
never leave you for sleeping with your baby rag. I just think it's kind of weird.
Riley: (starts to get up and leave) Yeah, I think so too but I can’t stop. You promise not to tell.
April: I promise on our marriage (looks to see nobody's watching and then pulls out a Teddy
Bear and gives it a hug)
Emma Nathenson
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